Greensleeves
by Morning. xx
Summary: Caradoc/Arabella, OneShot- Three years to the day when he was supposed to come back, Arabella remembers in an empty office. -Arabella Figg laughs bitterly to herself over the idiocy of Muggles-


Hello, me again. I love this pairing that I've made, and I hope you love it too. Unfortunately, I don't own the characters. I do, however, own the idea that Caradoc's middle name is Blaidd, and their memories. And, even more unfortunately, I don't own the song. This is _not_ a songfic, by the way.

I wanted to write more about Arabella and Caradoc, and another idea came to me. _What if he wanted to ask her to say "I do?"_ I'd been contemplating it for about a day before I sat down behind the computer and began to write. This is maybe, the third draft of this story. I like it, a lot. It shows, to me, that Caradoc had thought he was coming back. That he- the giant -couldn't ask a woman to love him, as a husband. It's such a mundane thought for someone that big, with _magic_ to have! And so from my fingertips flowed this story.

I love this song, and it means so much to me. I've sung it to a really close friend as he's accompanied me on the trumpet, piano... So I could really get into Arabella's mind.

Enjoy, dearies.

* * *

** Greensleeves**

Arabella Figg laughs bitterly to herself over the idiocy of Muggles. They had congratulated her all through the day on her splendid costume. Every customer that had passed her desk –the receptionist's desk –had complimented her on the amazing set of robes she sported, as well as the green witch's hat that had perched professionally over her neat brown bun.

"That's amazing!" they had enthused. "It looks so real! It matches beautifully, the black-green of the robes, and the pure green of the hat! Oh, wow, where did you get those?"

And to each happy person who had asked she had given a half-hearted smile and a shrug, "In the back of a closet," she would say, turning back to her typewriter, or checking some file in her cabinet. They would either continue talking, or go away.

They didn't know whose closet it was, nor why the angle of her hat concealed her eyes. They didn't know that the reason they were safe at night was partially because of the owner of that closet.

Arabella Figg is sitting at the desk, looking around the deserted office, looking anywhere but the calendar that serves as her ink-blotter. Today's date clearly said, in happy orange-and-black letters "Happy Halloween!" Marked under that in a steady, no-nonsense hand was "Office Party, 12 p.m. to 1 p.m."

They had invited her, sure, but she had demurely declined the invitation, making excuses that the other receptionist had done something wrong, and that she should fix it. Then she had resumed clicking and chiming on the typewriter, punching in words that had no meaning to her.

Everyone had left her alone. They knew that something was wrong with her. That she had lost someone dear to her, that she was different from the people she loved. The guessers had been hazy on the details, but they had gotten everything right. Three years ago, to the day, had been when Caradoc Blaidd Dearborn should have come back from a mission. And it had only been one year ago that two people had died, while their son had lived. Lily and James Potter had died a year ago today, and the Muggles wanted to take her out to a party.

Arabella laughs, for want of a better word, a sound that indicates that there is no mirth inside the one who is laughing. She remembers past the three years of suffering, to the year before.

_(Funny how days that you hate are also days that you love.)_

_The music is a serene waltz, and dancers glide across the floor in time to it. They go two-by-two, dress-robes swishing softly. Some couples smile at the awkward paring that was too busy staring into each other's eyes to notice anything else. They danced too, just slower, as if moving at the speed of the music would break something incredibly precious._

_The man is a foot taller than the woman, wearing green-black robes, and a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. The woman is laughing so happily, long brown hair shining against the blue of her robes. _

_The banners above flash their message to the dancers. "Happy Halloween!" they exclaim._

Arabella strokes the velvet robes slowly, making deliberate motions with her small hands. The music from all those years ago is consuming her, making her forget about everything. It's coursing through her veins, blood bubbling as it had never done before. Every crescendo and decrescendo make her heart beat faster, as only he could make it do. Lurching to her feet, she stumbles over the too-long robe, and nearly falls. But she can't fall, not with the music in her.

She glides as she used to, glides to a space where there is nothing to stop her from dancing. Her hands slide into place in the air, curving around the anatomy of one easily a foot taller than she. The music, oh, the music! It curls around her tight bun, teasing the ties with the memory of it. She waits for the cue to begin.

_The maestro flicks his wand upwards, and the players lift their instruments, drawing in a breath. The piano begins on an E, and quickly slides upward touching only upon G and A. The rest of the orchestra join in, all chiming together on the B. The melody twists about the room, and captivates her. It possesses her, possesses the one on the arm of he of the Greensleeves._

"Oh, I remember the steps," she whispers, as her feet lead her around. "One, two, three. One, two, three."

She knows the song, she knows it so well.

_"Alas, my love, you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously." _

_The singers continue, but she can't hear them over Caradoc's whisper. "You'll never cast me off, now will you, ma belle?" _

_"Never, Milord Greensleeves." _

_And they laughed together, turning as the music demanded._

"For I have loved you well and long, Delighting in your company." Arabella doesn't sing for anyone but herself and her Kneazles, but in her mind, she's singing to Caradoc.

She turns, robes fluttering as she does so. Her eyes are beginning to let some memories leak over, and she blinks, letting the tears run free.

_"Greensleeves was all my joy Greensleeves was my delight."_

"Greensleeves was my heart of gold-" And here, her voice falters, the pure notes diluted with pain and sorrow. But she clears her throat, and lifts her voice high again.

"And who but my lady greensleeves." She turns again, and something bangs against her thigh. The music stops, and she lets the words fall from her tongue and memory before investigating.

"Your vows you've broken, like my heart,"

_("I'll always be there.")_

"Oh, why did you so enrapture me?"

_("I can't think when you're in the same room as me!")_

Now I remain in a world apart"

_("I don't fit in, Caradoc, I never have!"_

_"Of course you fit in!")_

"But my heart remains in captivity."

_(The little songbird, never to be free.)_

Her hands linger in the air, a moment caressing the velvet again, before dropping through velvet, memories and time, back to the present. They lift to her hips, and slide down the seam, looking for the break in the fabric, for the pocket that she had repaired that night, an hour before they left.

Ah, there.

Curious fingers slide in first, thinking of when he last wore this.

"Wasn't it the day before he left?" she wonders aloud. "We had dinner with Dorcas and Fabian, at that fancy place. We wore our good robes, and he wore his Greensleeves."

Slender fingers weave themselves around a cubic object, and she draws it into the light.

A box? What for?

It's plain, with a flat bottom and a curved top. It sits in the palm of her hand, small, white leather and a gold clasp. It's smooth against the lines of her palm. A non-descript box.

Arabella shakes it, like a child with their present. Nothing rattles inside, and with an inquisitive purse of her lips, she slides her nails between the lip of the lid and the walls of the bottom. She flicks the lid back, and nearly drops the thing with a cry of surprise.

Nestled between two silver cushions was a silver ring, with a small emerald worked into the metal. She lifts the delicate thing from the box, and dropps the case into her- his –pocket.

Her eyes can't contain what she's feeling anymore, and so they overflow further, and sobs wrack her frail body. She falls to her knees, and can hardly see. Her hat falls from her head, pulling the hair-tie down with it. Her hair falls down her back, echoing the memory as the last wisps of the music flits through the air.

She wants to see the ring, her ring, but her eyes wont let her. Her stomach is empty, and is rebelling upon itself; she retches, and gasps for air between sobs.

Half an hour later they find her, sitting where she fell, howling as the tears fall. They wrap their arms around her, and look at the precious thing she holds in her hands. They gaze at the silver ring, with its beautiful gem, and then at Arabella.

"He… was going… to propose!" she wails. "With Fabian… and Dorcas w-w-watching!"

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, with his Greensleeve, she manages to look at the ring, and to see the ring of leaves engraved around the ring. On the inside, she sees the words Milady Greensleeves, and the tears come again.

They take her home, and put her in the plush, creamy chair with her hat and her hair-tie, where she cries until she is empty.

_Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,_

_To God I pray to prosper thee,_

_For I am still thy lover true,_

_Come once again and love me._


End file.
